


Turnbull, A Symphony of Destruction

by Sashataakheru



Category: Australian Politics RPS
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christopher Pyne watches his party disintegrate and wonders what price loyalty? when everyone's fighting amongst themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnbull, A Symphony of Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Started as a Rudd/Pyne bunneh before coming to embrace the current clusterfuck that is the Liberal Party of Australia at the moment. Written 27/11/09, and based on events up til that date. Might have to write an epilogue, of sorts, depending on how this all turns out.

First Movement – Pyne/Turnbull  
Christopher Pyne understood loyalty. He also understood politics. There were times when the two were mutually exclusive. There were times when loyalty could be thrown aside. Whatever his colleagues might think of Turnbull, Christopher remained steadfastly loyal, and Turnbull always rewarded loyalty with pleasure.

The Canberra apartment was small but cosy. The couch did not protest as they wandered in after midnight and fell into its warm embrace. Christopher crawled into his Leader’s arms and kissed him, eager to please. Turnbull was in no hurry to stop him. He hardly needed to tell him what to do anymore. Christopher knew.

Christopher leaned into his touch as Turnbull ran his fingers through his hair. Glazed eyes met Turnbull’s before Christopher gently kissed his neck, undoing the buttons on his shirt as he moved down his shirt.

There were times when Christopher wished he had Turnbull’s confidence. Christopher was a timid little bitch, and the whole party knew it. He did his best, but it was not a badge he could throw away. There were even times, even when he was in the middle of sucking his leader’s dick, that he wondered if he was just being used for Turnbull’s own desires, and when the time came that Christopher was no longer useful, he would be discarded, or stabbed in the back, or left to die his own death.

But tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He thought of nothing but devotion as he gazed up at his Leader. Turnbull lay back along the couch, smug grin on his face, as he watched Christopher go down on him. Christopher curled into the seat as comfortably as he could, concentrating on what he had to do. What he wanted to do.

Turnbull lay there like a contented lion as he came; Christopher was the prissy little bitch who craved his love and devotion, and he did what he was told as Turnbull held his head in place. Christopher was always more aware of making sure his leader got as much pleasure as he wanted.

Turnbull always took what he wanted, and Christopher had long since stopped fighting him over it. He barely made a sound as Turnbull sat up a little, positioned Christopher in the right place, and thrust inside him slowly, holding him firmly as he took what was his.

And, afterwards, when Christopher whispered to him, when he confessed his love in the darkness where no one else could hear him, Christopher sometimes expected Turnbull to tell him to kill himself, and Christopher knew, deep down, he would do it gladly if he asked.

  
Second Movement – Rudd/Pyne  
Christopher should’ve probably been concerned when Rudd told the House he loved him. But who takes parliamentary declarations of love seriously anyway? Christopher found himself proved wrong when Rudd proceeded to corner him somewhere dark and private and do some very un-Prime Ministerial things to him. Christopher had been shoved against a wall, and Rudd held him there with surprising force. His kiss bruised his lips while his hands tenderly slipped inside his shirt.

Christopher was surprised at the lack of revulsion he felt at being used in such a manner. But it was the Prime Minister, and Christopher couldn’t help feeling as if he shouldn’t be as eager to please him as he was eager to please his leader. Of course, back in the day, the Prime Minister and his leader had been one and the same, and it had proved no issue then.

Rudd was relentless, and his touch as gentle as a summer breeze. It was seduction at its finest, and Christopher gave in to it completely. Rudd whispered sweet praise in his ear as he slipped Christopher’s jacket off. There were kisses to his neck as Rudd slipped the buttons apart and prised his shirt from him. More filth as his hands moved to his belt and destroyed any resistance he had left.

Rudd had rent his body in two, had left him completely spent and unable to fight. Christopher felt he should’ve fought a little harder, but he found Rudd impossible to refuse. Whatever he might think of him, Rudd had a strange ability to compel you into obedience, whether you wanted to or not.

Christopher, naturally, had told no one of their encounter. Seeing Rudd in the House was enough to keep him silent, much as he barked at him and tried to shut him down. The poodle references did nothing but spur him on, trying to be a better dog than they expected.

  
Third Movement – Abbott/Pyne; Hockey/Pyne  
Christopher Pyne felt he should’ve seen it coming. What had seemed like unity, a collective calm, had actually been the eye of the storm and by now, the eye had long since passed to make way for chaos and destruction. He had to make a decision now. Should he support his Leader, who was considered by many to be not long for this world, or save himself and let Turnbull hang himself?

Hockey at least tried to be nice about it. When Christopher felt his loyalty wavering, when he choked back tears at the thought of betraying him, Big Joe was there to hold him, and reassure him, and tell him things would be okay. Big Joe was like a teddy bear, the analogy was too perfect for words, and Christopher loved the way he calmed him. Sometimes all he needed was a kiss and a gentle word and Christopher remembered why he pledged his loyalty in the first place.

But Christopher never had much time to think when Abbott came for him. It was never about comfort. It was about keeping him loyal. Abbott stared into his eyes and Christopher wilted. There was definitely no pleasure to be gained from Abbott. Abbott just took, and never bothered to give anything back. The only thing he expected was loyalty. Christopher was hardly surprised; Abbott had been more loyal to Howard than Christopher thought possible.

Abbott was abrasive. It was the only word to sum him up. Christopher always felt battered and bruised after being with him. Abbott didn’t know how to be like Hockey, how to calm him in a gentle way. It possibly didn’t help that Abbott was as selfish as Turnbull, and was not always good at hiding his lack of affection for anyone other than himself.

Once Abbott was done with him, Christopher often found himself in the arms of Big Joe again, who acted like the pleasure Abbott would never give him. Christopher curled into his arms and vowed never to stray, that he could never betray him, that he would rather die than betray his Leader. And Big Joe knew it was true.

  
Fourth Movement – Turnbull/Hockey  
Amongst the chaos of spill motions, Wilson Tuckey calling for Turnbull’s blood, and confusion about passing the Emissions Trading Scheme or not, Christopher still found time to be jealous. He might be the loyal soldier, prepared to die for his Leader, but it wasn’t him his Leader turned to. It was Big Joe who was called upon to comfort their Leader and talk some sense into him, and all Christopher could do was watch from the sidelines and think that, perhaps, he had been right all along and his Leader was willing to cut him off in order to save himself.

Hockey at least told him nicely that he might want to back off and give them some space. He’d watched Turnbull enter into some sort of madness and Christopher wanted to make things better. He would listen to Big Joe, though. Big Joe was good at handling their irascible Leader, and Christopher remained confident he could bring back good Malcolm.

That, of course, didn’t mean the rejection didn’t hurt. The anarchy and chaos that followed left him little time to think about it as he tried to keep abreast of what was happening. He didn’t like being left out, but he would have to accept it. He had never been as important to Turnbull as Hockey was, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  
Fifth Movement - Abbott/Pyne  
Friday afternoon came and finally Christopher felt he could finally breathe. The week had been far too crazy for words, and the party was on the brink of shattering completely. A spill motion had been formally called by Abbott, and he would at least have til Tuesday to decide if he would stay with the Leader who had been good to him out of loyalty, or decide what was best for the party.

He didn’t go with Turnbull to his apartment. Turnbull had fled anyway, had gone back to Sydney. Christopher was all alone, and nothing was at all clear in his head as he had a quiet drink.

Part of him wanted to follow Turnbull, try and meet up with him again and listen to what he had to say. Ideally, they would end up in bed together, and Christopher would show him his loyalty again. But then he wondered if that would be enough to keep him, or if Christopher would decide the party was more important come Tuesday.

Perhaps what he needed was Big Joe. Someone to take him aside and tell him things would be okay. But Hockey was distancing himself from Turnbull now, and it was entirely possible Hockey might stab him in the back if given half a chance. Perhaps he wasn’t the person to help ease his troubled mind.

Christopher paused and poured himself another drink. There were few options left. He watched clouds float through the sky as he made his decision. He went inside and picked up the phone. The number he dialled was etched into his memory. There was only one person left who could help him now.

“I need to see you. Can I come over?”

“I thought you might call. Be discrete, and don’t be late. Come round the back.”

Christopher bit his lip as Abbott’s harsh voice answered his query. He sounded annoyed. Christopher murmured his reply and set the phone back in the cradle. He finished his drink, left the glass in the sink, and grabbed his keys. The door closed quietly behind him. There was no going back now.


End file.
